The Rebel King (All the King's Men Duet #2) - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,79

whatever, this is how you do it. Can’t you see that?”

“Owen was a rare politician, Dad. Most of them are so hamstrung by party rules, and keeping the ones who scratch their backs happy, they can’t do the things people actually elected them to do.”

“Then be different. Change things. The men who want you to run are powerful enough to deliver the nomination.”

“If I did run, I wouldn’t need anyone to deliver anything to me. I’d deliver on my own.”

Something sparks in my father’s eyes. I’ve seen it when he talked about Owen but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen it in his eyes for me. Pride.

“And I assume you’re talking about guys like Chuck Garrett,” I say.

“Garrett was one of the first who approached me, yes.”

“Why would the head of the DNC want me to run when I’ve told anyone who’d listen I’m independent, not a Democrat?”

“Maybe he’s hoping to change your mind.”

“About the two-party system? In one conversation? Wow, check out the balls on Chuck.”

“If you decide to run, aligning with the Dems might be your best bet, and Chuck is the road to the party. There’s a real chance here, Maxim. I would never want to trade on Owen’s death, but you’re in a unique situation.”

“I think I’ll vomit if you say another word, Dad,” I tell him, my jaw so tight it hurts.

“Listen to me, and not with that soft heart you got from your mama. Listen to me with all the parts you got from me. There is a window, and if we don’t strike now, it will close. Iowa is in ten months. That’s no time in the election cycle. Candidates are preparing for debate season, introducing themselves to the American people, but you don’t need an introduction. People already know you, and that speech you gave at Owen’s funeral has gone viral.”

“Dancing cats go viral. Excuse me for not trusting a million hits on YouTube to dictate my future.”

“Millions,” Dad amends. “While you’ve been licking your wounds and hiding in these hills—”

“I’m not hiding.”

“Whatever. You’re not out there. People believed in Owen. They don’t see any other candidate who makes them feel that way, who makes them believe that way. They’ve started petitions to get your name on the ballot.”

“What?”

“There’s a group of independents who have organized something called The Cade Ballot Access Committee.”

“What?” I can’t seem to find another word to say.

“It’s a complicated process, getting onto the ballot, especially when you’re not affiliated with a party. You have to go state by state to get on, and every state has its own rules. Some of them require a helluva lot of signatures. This group has teams in every state collecting signatures so they’ll be ready when you decide to run.”

“And this is separate from Chuck?”

“Yes. Chuck wants you to run for the Democrats. Is that such a stretch? You were a surrogate for Owen.”

“That’s the point. The person I believed in happened to be a Democrat. Parties prescribe too much, try to strip you of what you believe for the sake of making others believe in you. That’s not me.”

“The call for you to run, the speculation that you might, is out there. You could still mobilize and have enough of an organization to be ready for Iowa.”

This is an echo of my conversation I had with Lennix before my father arrived, but we were discussing her diving back in to manage someone else’s campaign.

Would she manage mine?

Is this even a possibility? Do I want it to be?

Something stirs in me. I don’t know if it’s my own ruthless ambition, or if it’s the optimism Owen brought back to my life—the restlessness I’ve been unable to place or articulate. I meant what I said in the eulogy. Owen did make me believe again. He made me want to be a part of some solution to a world that is broken and fractured in ways that hurt the weakest, the poorest, most.

You really think you can convince a nation to change its ways? And the answer is always yes.

My own voice from another lifetime, from that first night with Lennix, haunts me.

Is the answer still yes?

Even as I ask myself the question, the pain of that phone call when I found out about Owen slams into my chest with fresh impact. I have been hiding, but not hiding myself. Hiding Lennix. I wouldn’t live through losing her, and risking her on the campaign trail while that psychopath is still on